


A Bad Spy and a Worse Mercenary

by qrantaire (rivenjolras)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Deacon goes Recruiting, M/M, MacCready takes his job way too seriously, Mistrust, Slow Build, Spies, Stalking, not going to be Spoiler-free
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivenjolras/pseuds/qrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Joseph MacCready knows when he's being followed, even if his employer does not. He can't say he really appreciates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at writing multi-chaptered fanfiction. Heavily inspired by a FKM prompt.

MacCready’s pretty sure he notices the man following them before his companion does. He doesn’t claim to know every person in Goodneighbor, but when this stranger refuses to take off his sunglasses at ten at night, he kind of sticks out. He recalls about a week ago in Bunker Hill, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off a caravan worker’s glasses as he waited for Ritchie to finish his shopping. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the man he internally dubs ‘Sunglasses’ exits Kill or Be Killed. MacCready scowls, and leans into Ritchie, who is chatting animatedly with Daisy from the doorway. When he does, the man stops and turns his head. “Boss,” MacCready begins lowly, “I think we have eyes on us.” 

Ritchie looks befuddled, then turns to catch him. MacCready stops him with a hand on his chest. “I swear to god, you’re about as subtle as a deathclaw with a missile launcher. Don’t. Look.” He hisses.

Ritchie definitely doesn’t appreciate it, but he tends to be the agreeable type, so he shrugs. “Well, I’ve got nothing to hide. If they really want to follow us, let them.” And that was that. Daisy doesn’t look offended at the interruption, and the conversation continues where it left off. MacCready stalks off. Ritchie’s openness and inability to consider anything a serious threat makes it hard to watch his back. A job MacCready is being paid to do, which is rapidly turning into an employee hazard.

Sunglasses is turning the corner, his back to him, when he makes the decision to confront him. He is unhurried, even as the merc rapidly approaches him. He’s sure that the other man hears him. MacCready grabs the back of his shirt, hauls Sunglasses into the alley, and slams him bodily against the wall. Any satisfaction he might have gained from the action is robbed by the man’s concealed eyes and blank expression.

“All right, you are going to start explaining why you’re following us, _now_.” MacCready starts. “And might I add, you’re possibly the worst fu-- damned spy I have ever seen.” He winces. Not ending on a strong note.

Sunglasses doesn’t look intimidated. “Am I, now? I’m going to have to up my game if I ever hope to win that shiny spy trophy for my mantle. It’s a shame, I made space for it and everything.” The man is breathing easy, even with MacCready’s arms and full weight pressing against his upper chest. It can’t be comfortable. 

“Okay, cut it out. I’ve noticed you, you’re caught. Next time I catch you, I won’t be giving you the courtesy of a conversation first.” MacCready snarls. “So you can either tell me what you want with my employer and I, or next time I can put a bullet in your skull. I’m sure you’ve seen, I’m really good at that.”

The man has the audacity to laugh. “Yeah, you pretty much are. I gotta tell you, man, you’re really underselling yourself. Two hundred caps, really? Although, I suppose, when you’ve got two high-ranking Gunners after you, you’re lucky to even get hired, these days.” Sunglasses’ grin is wicked. “Good thing your military man doesn’t seem to know what’s good for him.”

MacCready lets out a breath. He tries to picture the Third Rail that night, where Sunglasses could have been in order to overhear that conversation. He can’t recall the faces of any of the people there that night- his stomach was empty and his focus was off. If someone other than Winlock and Barnes had been watching him, there was no way he would have known. “ _How--_ ” No. He shakes his head. The information would be useless to him now anyways.

Sunglasses reads the unasked question. “You really don’t want to know.” MacCready gets the distinct impression that if the man hadn’t wanted to be seen at all, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. “Now, if you’ll remove your hands from my person, I would be _glad_ to answer any other questions you may have. And I really, really need a smoke right now, if you don’t mind.” 

MacCready considers this carefully. The man has a good couple of inches on him, and he’s pretty sure he only managed to pin him through momentum alone. Sunglasses is a hard read, his face betraying absolutely nothing. MacCready pulls back, and the man rubs his collarbone. 

“Thanks.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. MacCready watches uneasily. “So, shoot. I mean that metaphorically, by the way. I would prefer to spend my night on a mattress instead of in a grave.”

“Who are you?” MacCready begins. He thinks the question relatively inoffensive, and probably more likely to get an answer than anything else.

“A messenger.” The man’s lip quirks, as if he were recalling a joke. “Deacon.”

“Alright Deacon… a messenger for whom?” MacCready feels an oncoming headache. Smoke hangs heavily in the air, and he licks his lips, tasting it. Damn, he could really use a cigarette. The man- Deacon- seems to recognize this, and offers him one. MacCready takes it, and accepts the light. 

“An organization that is a little interested in the chain of events your employer has been setting in motion. I’m the watchful eye, of sorts.” 

“That’s… cryptic.” 

“Well, it’s the truth.” 

MacCready doesn’t doubt it, he knows professionalism when he sees it. Deacon probably couldn’t tell him any more than that without his organization’s wrath raining upon him. Doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Are you dangerous?” He tests. “Is your _organization_ dangerous?”

Deacon seems to stop to think about it. He takes a drag. “No.” He says finally. “At least, we won’t be, if your boss goes the way I think he’s going.”

“And what way is that, exactly?” MacCready narrows his eyes. He thinks of his and Ritchie’s past actions- clearing out raider-infested locations for settlements, tracking down beaten old synth detectives, running back and forth with packfuls of old tech, putting shotgun shells into crazed kidnapping cybernetic murderers. He’s not sure what action is causing this man’s approval.

Deacon smiles. “I think he’s looking for you, you know. I wouldn’t keep him waiting- he’s liable to get a knife in his back around here without you.”

MacCready groans when he sees Ritchie turn the corner, waving at him. He waves back.

“I’ll be right there!” He calls. When he turns back to the other man, he’s greeted with empty space. The air at the other end of the alleyway shimmers for a brief second, then stops. Typical.

Later, Ritchie shows him a holotape he’s picked up from some building in Bunker Hill. Together, they listen as a woman speaks against the Institute. Join the Railroad. Don’t worry, they’ll find you.

If MacCready finds a note later in his duster that says in semi-legible scrawl, _Follow the Freedom Trail - D._ , he doesn’t mention it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready and Ritchie take a break. Deacon's there.

MacCready is reasonably sure that Deacon isn’t following them anymore. At least, today he’s sure. Every time he sees air wavering like a mirage in the desert, he startles. Internally, he reasons that if Deacon was following them, he wouldn’t need a Stealth Boy to do it. Ritchie gives him a lot of odd looks along the way, but ultimately, the man isn’t nosy. It’s one of the many things MacCready appreciates about him.

They stop in Diamond City after a particularly harrowing encounter with super mutants. Ritchie’s shiny metal chest piece is covered in gore, and underneath all the armor, his clothes aren’t faring any better. MacCready is lucky enough this time where he didn’t have to get in close to any of the disgusting things. He spent the fight taking shots from behind cover while Ritchie smashed them to bits with a stolen super sledge. The man is pretty efficient that way.

MacCready waits outside Home Plate while Ritchie changes. When he exits, he’s wearing a trenchcoat in lieu of armor.

“I need a fucking break.” Ritchie begins. He looks less like a hulking machine in normal clothing. “I’m going to go see if Nick doesn't need any help. Feel free to stick around, get a drink.” 

“Alright, it’s your funeral.” MacCready rolls his eyes, but he’s secretly pleased they’re not heading out again today. He can think of worse places to get a drink than Diamond City, if he’s being honest.

He’s two drinks in at a table at the Dugout when a familiar face sits next to him. He’s wearing the armor of a security guard, minus the helmet. It’s like he isn’t even trying.

“If you’re looking for my employer, you just missed him.” MacCready says. He knocks back the rest of his drink.

Deacon orders two beers at the bar. MacCready is instantly suspicious, but accepts his anyway.

“I wasn’t looking for him, honestly.” Deacon begins after a few moments. He’s only taken a sip of beer. MacCready is halfway through his, and his nerves aren’t reacting anymore. Deacon is close, his leg casually pressed against his. He doesn’t really mind it.

“Then why are you here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was here for you? ...No?” Deacon smirks a little. MacCready doesn’t really know how to take it. “Truthfully? I just wanted to get away for a little while.”

“From your… organization?” MacCready tests.

“Yeah.” His expression is unreadable. They’re silent for a few more moments, and it’s almost companionable.

Finally, MacCready bites. “So… what the _fu_ -... hell is the Freedom Trail, anyway? What did you even mean?”

Deacon isn’t facing him, so MacCready sees the eyeroll behind his sunglasses from the side. “You know, you and your boss don’t seem to know a thing in the way of subtlety.” He taps the table with one hand repeatedly. “And I even left you that holotape as a present, figuring you’d work it out.”

“Ritchie has been a little… preoccupied.” MacCready defends. He waits. Deacon supplies.

“Have you ever been down to Boston Commons?”

“Briefly, I’m not stupid. We picked up Valentine from Park Station a few weeks back.”

“You should really visit it again. I hear there’s a red line in the pavement that takes a particularly scenic route through the city.” Deacon finishes his beer, but makes no move to leave.

“And that’s the Freedom Trail?” MacCready says, incredulous.

“I didn’t _say_ that.” Deacon stresses. “What I’m saying is, if you follow it, you might encounter some interesting surprises.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to convince my boss that treading into territory like that is worthwhile?” 

Deacon stands, and his hand lands on MacCready’s shoulder, giving it a firm pat as he passes. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure it out.”

Just like that, he’s gone again. MacCready doesn’t see him after that, even when he looks for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to Evie, deaconvevo, for her valuable input, as usual. current soundtrack is the Full House theme. _Everywhere you look...._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready and Ritchie formally meet the Railroad. Complete with staring down the barrel of a gun.

Ultimately it takes a week before Ritchie has thoroughly wrapped up “business” enough that he can be convinced to return to the commons. MacCready grit his teeth through most of it, though their detour to take out Winlock and Barnes was certainly nothing to complain about. He lures Ritchie with talk about a raider bar, however the man forgets all about it when he notices the red line and talks to the Protectron.

MacCready’s knuckles are white gripping his rifle as they follow the trail- which is a lot less straightforward than he would have thought. Debris obscures some of the trail, and MacCready curses when they encounter more supermutants along the way than was strictly necessary. 

Ritchie, for the most part, treats it like a game. He repeats the letter and number combinations out loud as he walks. By the time they reach the front steps of the church, MacCready is done.

“Can you quit it? I can hardly think!” MacCready hisses, too loudly. The both of them still and wait for any sort of indication that enemies heard them. After a beat, Ritchie speaks.

“How else am I supposed to remember? Clearly this is some sort of puzzle.”

“Oh for crying out loud- it spells _Railroad_. Think about it.” He snaps.

Ritchie’s eyes light up. “Oh, like on the holotape.” He laughs. “Wow. What are these guys- hardcore history buffs?” MacCready gives him a blank look. “You know, the freedom trail, the underground railroad, slaves… No? Alright. You must have missed that particular lesson in school.”

MacCready rolls his eyes. His boss knows by now about his spectacular upbringing, but he doesn’t bother correcting him. He doesn’t elaborate on the lesson either, thankfully.

Ritchie makes short work of the ferals they find in the church, and a painted white lantern leads them down to the basement. Catacombs, MacCready corrects, when they have to step over a fallen coffin and mangled skeleton. The air is stale, and the silence feels almost ominous.

“It’s quiet… too quiet.” He laughs when Ritchie startles ahead of him. “Oh man, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

They reach the apparent end of the ‘combs and stand in front of a very fake-looking wall. Ritchie’s eyes follow the wire leading from the Freedom Trail ring. “Huh. Wonder how it works.”

“Who cares how it works? Let’s see what’s behind door number one, please.” 

Door number one holds blinding lights and armed strangers, apparently. MacCready grips his rifle and waits for the exchange of fire. Only the knowledge that a mini-gun at this range would make short work of him stops him from firing first. Right, diplomacy first.

The obvious leader ignores him, speaking only to Ritchie. Her voice is loud and commanding, filling up the entire room. “Stop right there. You went through a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions.”

Thankfully, Ritchie complies. Or, he thinks he does. MacCready’s eyes are trained on the barrel of the mini-gun, and his heart is pounding so loudly in his panic that he misses Deacon’s grand entrance.

“-of Nuka-Cola for what you did to Kellog. He was our public enemy number one.”

MacCready spots Deacon just then, and relief surges through him at the sight of a familiar face. Or, at least relatively familiar. He forces himself to untense his shoulders, and instead takes in the rest of the exchange with little actual comprehension. Ritchie handles it. MacCready goes from hyperfocusing on the gun, to Deacon’s mouth as he speaks. It has a calming effect on him.

All at once, the tension in the room dissipates. The three strangers relax, and wander about. The redhead smokes, and the one with the undercut talks to her. She looks a little less terrifying when she laughs.

“Hope you don’t mind the reception. When you tango with the Institute you got to be careful when someone new gets on the dance floor.” Deacon is smiling disarmingly when he addresses Ritchie. But his head is turned just slightly MacCready’s way. His mouth feels dry.

Ritchie doesn’t mince words, and he forgives the lot of them too quickly for MacCready’s liking. “Desdemona mentioned a job for us?”

“Right. It’s too big for me, but just perfect for the three of us. You help me out, we turn a few heads, and then Dez invites you two into the fold.”

“Wait- wait.” MacCready starts, “The three of us? She didn’t seem too keen about Ritchie- what makes you think I’ll even be allowed back?”

Ritchie looks at MacCready as if he’s noticing him for the first time, then glances back to Deacon. He seems as if he’s puzzling something out.

Deacon smirks. “I think I’ll be able to convince her. Don’t you worry about it.”

And somehow, he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was difficult to get through this chapter, but the next one is very clear in my head. This is going somewhere, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon wears some kind of outfit MacCready’s sure he’s seen on a few farmers before and a hat pulled over his head. Still with the sunglasses.

After a quick detour to pick up more ammo, they meet under an overpass that makes the ex-gunner particularly incredibly nervous. Deacon wears some kind of outfit MacCready’s sure he’s seen on a few farmers before and a hat pulled over his head. Still with the sunglasses.

Ritchie laughs at Deacon’s ridiculous impression of the average wastelander. MacCready pointedly doesn’t.

“Oh come on. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of disguise, the least you could do is give me a thumbs up.” Deacon’s frown is exaggerated, comical. 

“You could always try being better at it. Just a thought.” 

“You wound me, my friend. And here I was going to knit you a ‘best pal’ sweater and everything.” His toothy grin is real this time. Then it’s gone, and suddenly he is Deacon the agent. “So, about the job…”

Ritchie listens when Deacon gives the backstory. He only talks briefly about the carnage, rushes through it really. MacCready tries to imagine the sort of damage that waves of Institute synths can do to a building full of trained agents, but comes up short. He just doesn’t have the experience. While he ponders, Deacon is already ahead, explaining tourists and signs and handshakes. The both of them follow. 

MacCready watches Deacon’s back and notices the tension in the man’s shoulders when they climb higher onto the overpass. He doesn’t blame the guy. If MacCready looks too far to his left or right, he’s hit with a dizzying sort of vertigo. Ritchie, as usual, is relaxed, and he answers Deacon in the same easy way he normally does. As if he isn’t walking along a bombed-out highway with structural integrity that leaves something to be desired. 

They see a camp ahead and a man standing with his back to them. Deacon stops. “Alright, it’s go time. You take point on the conversation. No matter what he says, say ‘Mine is in the shop’. Trust me.” He takes a step back, and gestures ahead. Ritchie leads the group.

The man turns, his eyes wild, crazed. “Oh thank god. Do you have a geiger counter? Do you have a goddamn geiger counter?” He looks between the three of them. MacCready realizes the man has likely been told next to nothing about who he was meeting.

Ritchie clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, mine is in the shop.”

The man scowls. “Great. Now who the hell are they? HQ said they were sending one agent, not a fucking army.” 

MacCready bristles, but Deacon stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry pal, we’re new. Senior agent’s showing us the ropes. You know how it is.” 

This seems to put the man at ease. “Alright. It’s about time you headquarters bastards got here. I thought I was dead for sure.”

Ritchie lets out a grunt but doesn’t reply. Luckily the man doesn’t need any more prompting to continue.

“That little Slocum Joe’s of yours is crawling with god-damned chrome-dome synth sons of bitches! The front’s fortified to hell and back and mines are everywhere. Nearly blew my fucking leg off.” He lets out an angry sigh. “I hope it’s fucking worth it.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done.” Ritchie thanks him. It’s probably genuine, to MacCready’s irritation. When they’re out of hearing range, he has to say something.

“Who pissed in that guy’s Sugar Bombs? Seriously, that guy needs a punch in the jaw.” A lot of people they meet do, when MacCready really thinks about it.

Deacon snorts. “Hey, the job’s stressful. You heard him, mines and synths galore. It’s a little much for a tourist with basic combat training. That is, if you believe him.” He looks to Ritchie. “What’s _your_ read, boss?”

“Why would Ricky lie?” Ritchie asks.

“Oh, lots of reasons. We all lie. Some more than others. Perhaps the Institute got to him. Maybe he’s pissed at us. Take your pick, really.” 

MacCready gets the distinct impression that if he could see Deacon’s eyes, the man would be winking. 

Ritchie considers this. “I can’t really imagine him lying about this. Seems to me the man loves to bitch.”

“I agree.” Deacon’s mouth quirks upwards, he’s clearly pleased with the answer. “If we take him at his word, the front door has synths, mines, possibly other fun goodies. So the escape tunnel is definitely the way to go.”

MacCready looks to Ritchie, and just _knows_ that the man sees a challenge. He groans to himself before he even speaks.

“You know what? Sneaking really isn’t my style. Plus, I have a bag full of grenades with the Institute’s name on them.” Ritchie is grinning, manic. “How about we take the front door?”

Deacon’s eyebrows shoot above his sunglasses. “Really? Well, if you think you’ve got the mojo for it, I’ll follow your lead. Let’s go.” He makes a move to follow. MacCready has had enough.

“Wait, wait. Are you freaking kidding me?” MacCready grabs Deacon’s arm, physically turning him around to face him. “You’re cool with this?”

Deacon shrugs, but makes no move to take his arm back. “You’ve gotten this far. You both killed a Courser and his lackeys, and that’s the best the Institute’s got as far as I know. Personally, I’m willing to throw down with you and beat the odds.” He leans in, his voice lower. “It’d make a hell of a story, for sure.”

MacCready falters, then remembers himself and lets the arm go. “Right. So now I can count on having two crazy partners. Always good to know.” A strange sort of expression crosses Deacon’s face, too quick to really make any sort of judgement on.

“Yup. And you’re stuck with me.” Ritchie replies. “Now let’s go, _Mac_.”

.

Surprisingly, Deacon has a fantastic throwing arm. MacCready’s hands are quick as he disarms the mines and slips them into his pack. No use letting them go to waste. The synths are clearly unprepared for such a bold assault, and once the first grenade lands right next to the closest turret it shreds it completely. Two of the synths turn in the direction of the first lobbed one, but Deacon has already used a Stealth Boy and headed for cover.

From the opposite direction, Ritchie throws a baseball grenade into the air, then sends it flying with a crack of his metal bat. The grenade is travelling so fast it lodges firmly in one of the synth’s metal ribcage, before exploding in a shower of wires and hunks of metal. The second synth is taken out by the shrapnel. 

MacCready is finished, and peers down his sniper rifle into the window of the Slocum’s, where a turret has yet to fire at any of them. Deacon is stealthed, somewhere, and Ritchie and him are still out of range. Beautiful. He takes in a breath, and shoots. The top of the turret blows off, but it’s still functional. The barrel of it spins around blindly, firing random shots into the air. He shoots again, and the whole thing collapses into pieces.

Deacon laughs behind him, too close, and MacCready nearly screams. “That was phenomenal. What teamwork.”

MacCready pretends to be composed. He smooths his hair back. “Oh. Well. It’s easy when you have the best hired gun in the Commonwealth.”

“I believe it.” Deacon’s smile is surprisingly warm.

Ritchie has already destroyed the rest of the synths. He’s wrenching his bat out of a synth’s chest cavity, and he waves enthusiastically from where he is. He breaks out into a jog to meet them.

When Ritchie’s in range, Deacon is the first to speak.

“Well, that ought to really fuck up the Institute’s day. Want to see how much more damage we can do inside?”

Inside the basement, MacCready is so angry he could scream.

“Well, they sure shut off the elevator alright.” Deacon is frowning, but his voice is hardly neutral. He can’t quite conceal his amusement. “But hey, the sliver of a bright side here is it’ll be easy getting out.” He pauses, then breaks out into a grin. “Do you believe that? I don’t.”

Ritchie shrugs like this is just something that happens sometimes, what can you do. “Well, it was fun, at least.”

MacCready just stares, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable. The both of you. Why did I even agree to this?”

“Hm, maybe you were thinking of the sweet loot? Or, maybe, you were possessed by the spirit of kindness. Or, perhaps you were looking for a chance to spend some quality time with yours truly? We just don’t know.” Deacon supplies helpfully. Ritchie laughs.

“Don’t encourage him.” MacCready snaps at him, but he’s smiling.

It doesn’t change that they still have to take the long way around, and that it’ll likely be nightfall by the time they’re finished. But, it’s something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun thing to do: Do the Tradecraft quest, do the frontal assault because you want to try something different this playthrough. Get your leg blown off twice, throw 8 grenades. And then STILL have to go to long way. I did this in-game with Ritchie. It was cool beans. Deacon is a fucking jackass, I can't even begin to tell you how fucking smug he sounded.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritchie gets laid. MacCready and Deacon get beers, and most definitely don't get laid.

When they’re back at the church, Ritchie earns himself a codename. Deacon exaggerates their exploits, and Desdemona seems skeptical. Ritchie humbly states he didn’t do it alone, and looks pointedly at MacCready. Desdemona lets out an appraising “hm”, but doesn’t say much after. It looks like MacCready is allowed in the HQ, and that’s good enough for him. Whether he’s a tourist, a guest, or an agent is never made clear. He doesn’t really mind.

Once “official business” is out of the way, Deacon takes the both of them aside. 

“Welcome to the family, Bullseye. We’re a colorful and arguably insane bunch, but you’re stuck with us now.” Deacon’s voice is warm, and his smile looks genuine, at least. MacCready wonders if his eyes are, too.

“Speaking of which…” Deacon continues, “... if you don’t mind a side-kick, let’s keep a good thing going and travel together some more.”

Ritchie raises a brow. “Oh, wow. Doesn’t the Railroad need you here?”

“My job’s mainly intel. So the more places I go, the better I’m doing at it.” He sounds convincing enough, but his smile is a little off.

“Uh huh.” Ritchie looks at MacCready. “I kind of already have help, right now. I guess it’s up to MacCready.”

MacCready straightens upon hearing his name. Both Deacon and Ritchie are looking at him, and he feels put on the spot. “Uh… well…” He scratches his chin. Mentally weighs the bigger jobs they can take versus what Deacon’s cut of the potential loot would be. He definitely doesn’t think about the man’s easy smile and laughter. Not at all. “I guess three’s company, right?”

Ritchie nods, then looks back to Deacon. “Guess you’re in then.”

“You’ve made the right decision, my friend. Just in time too, it was my turn to do the dishes tonight. So, thank you for that.” Deacon grins. 

The three of them head out soon after. Desdemona and Carrington and P.A.M. give them more assignments immediately. Ritchie leads them in the opposite direction, but Deacon doesn’t seem to mind. The man himself seems to be trying to be particularly obnoxious, with his running commentary on their surroundings. MacCready rolls his eyes, but Ritchie’s sense of humor meshes incredibly well with Deacon’s. If “constant sarcasm” is considered humor. 

Ritchie stops at a few settlements to inquire about how things are going with the locals while Deacon and MacCready hang back. Later in the evening, one enthusiastic woman in a tattered shirt starts a conversation with Ritchie and takes his hand, pulling him towards a shack. Ritchie shoots MacCready an apologetic look as he follows her in. MacCready scowls.

Deacon laughs. “Well, guess we’ll be here a while, then. Might as well get comfortable.” He wraps an arm around MacCready and leads him off in another direction. MacCready isn’t sure why he doesn’t resist. 

Deacon leads him to a cluster of people in chairs and upturned crates around a fire pit. “Hey guys. What’s up?” A few of the people look up and greet them, but then go back to their own conversations.

MacCready sits on the most stable-looking chair and eyes the strangers warily. 

Deacon hands him a beer from god-knows-where. He accepts it, and they sit for a while together, surrounded by the sounds of the crackling fire and chatter of the settlers. Eventually, most of the settlers leave and the fire is low.

“So.” Deacon starts casually. “What’s your story, ‘Cready?” At some point during the night, they both shifted closer to the fire, their chairs pulled up so that the side of their knees touch.

“Don’t you already know it?” MacCready quips over his fourth or fifth beer. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and he’d be just as happy not speaking the rest of the night. But apparently, Deacon has other plans.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grins toothily.

“Of course you don’t.” He rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t want to have some heart-to-heart or whatever you’re thinking of right now. I don’t know you. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Asking questions is kind of how you get to know someone. That’s typically how friendship works, man.”

MacCready gives him a withering look. “Friendship? Is that what this is?”

Deacon raises his eyebrows. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?” He finishes off his beer and sets aside the bottle. He leans in and touches the other man’s leg. He smells of alcohol, but he doesn’t appear to be affected outwardly. Meanwhile, MacCready’s brain struggles to comprehend what exactly is happening. “What,” Deacon’s face is so close, he can feel breath on his cheek, “- praytell, would you say this _is_ , then...?”

MacCready blinks, but doesn’t pull back. His chest is tight and he’s lightheaded. The hand on his thigh feels impossibly heavy. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Deacon stares, then lets out a laugh, the moment broken. He removes his hand and leans back into his chair. “Ah, your face just then was priceless, ‘Creeds.” He stands up abruptly. “I’m going to get some beauty sleep. God knows I need it at this point. Sleep tight, kid.” He pats his knee once, then heads off.

MacCready watches him leave dumbly. “ _Kid…?_ ” He repeats. 

The exchange is forgotten by morning, when Ritchie kicks his side in vicious glee and tells him they’re leaving. MacCready groans and considers leaving his employ, then grudgingly realizes he can’t afford it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... It only took me over a year to start writing this again. I'm very rusty with the FO4, I no longer have it on my computer. RIP in pieces. Also: RJ is just too gay to function.


End file.
